


Hit Me Once

by DustToDust



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Don’t copy to another site, Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 14:36:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20584118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/pseuds/DustToDust
Summary: Collection of unrelated works.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Breaking down my other drabble collection as it was a mess of different pairings some found irritating to browse through. Forgive me if you've seen some of these before. As I go through it I will be adding some older works that have not been on the internet in a while from a previous pen-name.

"That wasn't on sale," Malik observes as a dented cardboard box is dumped in his lap. It's a purplish pink in color and may have been heart shaped once upon a time before someone sat on it.

"No," Altair says as he drops onto the couch next to him. He's got a fistful of emptied foil wrappers in one hand and an open bag of candy in the other.

"It's not even the good stuff," Malik pries open the box and looks at the chalky looking chocolates within. A landmine of unknown flavors that will all inevitably be awful. Malik doesn't even bother looking at the diagram printed on the lid. Those things always lie. "You paid full price for shitty candy."

"You're eating it," Altair points out.

And regretting it. Malik grimaces as he eats something that's vaguely fruity. The filling is offensively pink and sticks to his tongue. He drops the half eaten piece back into the cheap plastic tray and tosses it onto the coffee table before reaching for the bag Altair is holding. "My mistake. Give me that."

"No, get your own," Altair shoves a few pieces in his mouth but doesn't move away when Malik slides sideways to reach for the bag. "I paid for this with my own money. go buy your own stuff."

"I'll do that tomorrow, when everything is 75% off like most people do," Malik gets a handful of chocolates and pops two immediately to take care of the foul fruity aftertaste.

"All the good stuff will be gone by then," Altair snorts and twists under Malik's weight. Using his legs and one arm to roll them until Altair's stretched out on the couch. Malik settled on top of him and between his legs. A comfortable position that gives him free access to the candy.

"The good stuff that's out in the open," Malik corrects and settles into the curve of his boyfriend's body. "But they can't sell what's been carefully hidden away behind a wall of oatmeal."

"Really?" Altair laughs and the motion of it jolts Malik. "Did you go in and hide candy so you could buy it on sale later?"

"You can get on your knees tomorrow," Malik says with no shame, because that is exactly what he has done, "and beg me for some of my Babyruths then. I may even give you some if you ask prettily enough."

"Cheapskate," Altair laughs harder and spills a few chocolates on his chest before discarding the bag to work on the foil wrappers.

"You love it," Malik makes sure to steal more than his fair share before relaxing and losing himself to the TV once more.


	2. Burn It All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Addams Family Value was brought up and a request was made for AltMal in the camp somehow. I laughed. Then I wrote.

"You're wearing your arm," Kadar says with all the suspicion he's learned in his far too few years on this planet.

Malik lets the smile --painful and absolutely wrong to his face-- drop because they're alone and he doesn't have to pretend right now. He curls the fingers of his left arm, feeling the tiny pinpricks of pain that come about every time he reattaches the limb. It's useful having two hands at times, but Malik generally prefers having just one arm. As the target of the few times Malik has decided to use both arms Kadar has the experience to know that a two-armed Malik is something to be very wary of.

He turns and finds his brother is not alone. Altair stands just behind the boy and looks adorably confused and wary. The young man has the sense to realize the danger in Malik. Something that so few people in this dreadful place has, and Malik feels oddly pleased by that. It's a new feeling for him and he'd be more irritated by it if he didn't have an awful revenge to plan out.

"Yes, I am, brother dear," Malik smiles at them both and this one feels right to his face. It's cruel and dark. Kadar tilts his head and watches him with his unnaturally blue eyes. Altair takes a cautious step backward but seems unwillingly fascinated, which is an interesting reaction that Malik will have to explore. Later though. "I'm going to need both hands to burn this place the way I want to."

A plan is already falling into place and he itches to start laying out the groundwork for it. Visions of the world on fire flicker to life behind his eyes and Malik has to check the grin he wants let out as he turns and beckons his minions to follow him back to where they can be seen. He modulates it back down to the fake cheer that makes his skin itch and crawl. Kadar follow to the left and Altair to the right. Falling in seamlessly enough that Malik decides it might be worth it to take him with when he's finished with his revenge here.


	3. Every Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for how Altair and Malik take their coffee. Modern AU.

"I am not holding your hand when the dentist has to remove your rotted teeth," Malik says as he watches Altair empty nearly the whole container of sugar into his cup. No wonder the man asked for a smaller sized drink in a larger cup. "Also, you’re going to have to find someone else to date, because I swore to my dead mother I would never go out with someone who wears dentures."

"Stop confusing me with Kadar," Altair leaves maybe a dusting of sugar in the hefty container and ignores the dirty look they’re now getting from one of the baristas to grab the carafe of creamer. "Not everyone shares his phobia of dentists. I’m only putting this much in because the coffee here tastes like shit and I have to use something to disguise the taste."

Both baristas are now glaring black death at them, and Malik takes a healthy swig of his own cup. Straight up coffee with only a touch of cream and sugar. “Tastes fine to me.”

"That’s because you drink straight from the coffee pot every morning," Altair picks up a shaker of cinnamon and looks at it doubtfully before shrugging and adding a good shake of it to his unholy mixture. "Your taste buds have been seared to death, and you can no longer taste anything."

Malik watches in morbid fascination as Altair gives his cup a good stir. The liquid inside is a color Malik can’t right call anything else but puke tan. Altair snaps the lid on it and takes a cautious sip. He grimaces and shudders, “Fucking awful. Why do we come here.”

"Because you’re a moron who doesn’t know how to not mess things up," Malik sighs and puts his cup down to fish out a hefty tip from his pocket. The glares lessen a little for him, but stay pointed on Altair who is still bitching about the drink he’s ruined.The twenty will guarantee them at least one more day of being able to come here, but Malik has no doubt they’ll soon get banned from yet another cafe. He picks his cup up and turns to walk back onto the street. Not bothering to check if Altair is done aggravating the workers.

Altair will follow or he’ll catch up eventually, and then Malik will steal his wallet to make up for the money he left in the tip jar.


	4. Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off [this old meme](https://www.deviantart.com/yazora/art/Today-Your-Barista-Is-374982312) because I'm not tired of it yet, and will get every OTP in on this sometime before I die. [Link replaced with a different pic but still very much in the same flavor]

As if the sign itself isn't obvious enough, there's a post-it note hanging precariously off the side --because there's no room for anymore writing on the small board-- with his name written on it. Malik takes the time to appreciate the poor planning and absolute cheesiness of this gesture before turning to the smug face of the man behind the counter.

"One, you are not a barista. You shovel cheap ground coffee into a pot, run hot water through it, and throw creamer at people who ask for anything more than that," Malik says and that's not the insult Altair is clearly taking it as from the way his face is screwing up into a scowl.

It's no Starbucks and that's the whole reason Malik keeps coming to this hole in the wall even though there's five coffee shops between here and his home that'd be happy to take his money. Malik just isn't willing to part with his hard earned money for something with a name longer than his caffeine deprivation will allow him to remember. 'Coffee, black' is the full extent of his vocabulary most days. The eclectic selection of food and drink --that seems to change daily-- is quaint when he's awake enough to appreciate it, and that's really all he needs.

"Two," Malik pauses here and debates how best to word his second point. Mostly because it took him six months to figure out the truth of it himself, and it's embarrassing how long that took. "Two, you don't actually work here. You just shove Desmond into the back when I come in and pretend you know how the register actually works."

Also, various other implements of cooking and drink making that Malik has taken to ordering from each time just to see how far Altair was willing to take the charade. His bank account has appreciated the long break of not having to pay for lunch for so long though. The gobsmacked look on Altair's face as he's caught is worth the wait as well.

There's a loud bark of laughter from the back and a clatter of metal on metal. Altair spares a dirty look to the open doorway before he tries to visibly gather himself again. "I do actually work here-"

"Owning the shop isn't the same as actually working here," Malik cuts in with relish, and admires the way Altair's mouth works before he snaps it closed with a click. Desmond sounds like he's having problems breathing in the back.

"How," Altair's eyes narrow in suspicion, and his lips push out slightly in an almost pout that Malik's looking forward to bringing to his attention eventually, "do you know that?"

"It's called public record," Malik says as Desmond sidles out of the back. A to-go cup of steaming something in one hand, a bag that looks about right for the sandwich --and thank fuck Desmond has always been the one to make it considering how very many times he's seen Altair almost slice a finger off-- he usually orders, and a deeply red face. "Given how incompetent you are I thought you were the owner's son. Imagine my surprise to find out you actually own this place. Shouldn't you have some working knowledge of your own business, Altair?"

Desmond starts laughing again, muffled badly, as Malik takes his order before scuttling away again. Altair jerks to the side and Malik hears the sound of a foot connecting before Desmond lurches with a curse. He ignores the furious exchange of hand gestures and snarls the two --supposedly grown-- men exchange as he pulls out a few bills and drops them on the counter. A first, he usually hands over his card for Altair to pretend to swipe, and turns to walk out.

He's almost to the door before Altair seems to pull himself out of his silent argument with his employee enough to notice. "Hey! Wait, Malik!"

Malik ignores Altair's shout and continues out. He's got an actual deadline today and has already spent more time getting lunch than he'd like. The board is reflected imperfectly in the door briefly before he's through it. Malik wonders at the coincidence that Altair finally grew enough of a set of balls to ask --indirectly-- for his number the very day Malik grew tired of waiting. Hopefully, Desmond sticks around long enough to point out the numbers inked onto the money he left behind, or Malik will never let him live it down.


	5. Beg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Kink memes](http://forkinsocket.livejournal.com/16841.html) will be my death. Edit: Now with a sequel that I somehow managed to forget was linked to this bit!

Malik worked more than any of the Rafiqs Altair had worked with. It never mattered when he arrived at the Bureau, when the sun was just rising or in the darkest hours of the night, Malik was always awake and working. It was hard to say if it was because of the importance of his position or if it was due to Malik's inability to cope with being idle.

Whichever the cause, all the work did little to sweeten Malik's vile temper.

Altair placed the thrown inkpot carefully next to the fountain. If Malik ran out of ink in the night he could get it himself, and Altair was not about to give him the excuse of breaking it to yell about. Malik did well enough with _that_ on his own.

It was maddening how little it took to set the Dai off. Anything from speaking to simply _being_ was grounds for meeting the sharp edge of the man's tongue. Altair settled down on the cushions and leaned against the wall reflecting on the fact that Malik's tongue was all edge. Each side of the forked thing was as sharp as any Assassin's blade.

And just as quick to fly, as the faint sounds of Altair settling were apparently enough to disturb the man in the next room, "Keep your silence, novice!"

Altair's jaw clenched around a growl. What must he do for an end to this? Beg on his knees for forgiveness? Malik would like that.

The flash on anger passed as quickly as it came and Altair choked on the words he almost shouted back. If begging on his knees would please Malik, even a little, then Altair would do it. Not for forgiveness, but for the _chance_ to earn it. Malik deserved no less for what Altair had taken from him.

He shifted, listening intently to see if this noise would draw more of Malik's ire. He heard nothing. Straining his senses to their limits he heard the faint scratching of quill against parchment. The only sign that he had not disturbed Malik further. Pride pricked him at his thoughts telling him that disturbing the man was the _least_ he could to do repay his temper, but Altair ignored it. He was getting better at pushing that poisonous voice aside.

All it had taken was for Malik to pay the price of Altair's actions.

Altair closed his eyes and forced his body to relax. Tension reluctantly leaving his muscles as he attempted to get some rest. Always a hard thing to do in Jerusalem. With little else to do Altair let his mind drift. Let himself wonder.

If Malik wanted it Altair would get down on his knees, swallow his damned pride, and _beg_. He would take whatever insults the Dai would throw at him as his due and beg more. The insults, the taunts, the yelling. It would not be easy, but Altair would take it all. Just for a chance to earn Malik's forgiveness. A chance to show the man that he would do anything to make amends.

At that, Malik's eyes would light up. A cruel light that Altair knew all too well. _"You'll do anything?"_

He would.

A calloused hand would push back his hood and catch Altair's face. Forcing him to crawl forward on his knees until he knelt at Malik's feet. His hands braced on the Dai's thighs as he looked up at his face. Malik would smirk as those dark eyes turned hungry. _"I'll consider it after you've sucked me."_

Altair focused on his breathing. Keeping it even and soundless to not disturb Malik even as he imagined the man's hand undoing his belt and parting his robes. Ink stained fingers untying his pants and pulling his own hard length out. Dragging the moist tip over Altair's face, painting the scar on his mouth with precum. The taste of it heavy on his tongue.

Slowly, Altair brought his right hand to rest over the growing bulge in his pants. Pressing and kneading himself to full hardness, but not undoing the ties. Malik would not allow that. After all, it was Altair who had to make amends. His pleasure would wait.

_"Hands here,"_ Altair's hands would be dragged up to fist high in Malik's loose robes. _"Don't move them, novice, you'll only use your mouth on me."_

He licked his lips thinking about how Malik would taste. How soft the skin of his cock would feel against Altair's lips as he kissed it. Tongue flicking out to drag across the slit for more. The feel of it dragging across his face as Malik's hips bucked at the tease.

_"Enough!"_ Malik would growl. Gripping Altair by the side of his head instead. Fingers twining in his short hair and pulling slightly. _"Do it now or get the hell out of my sight."_

And that would be all that Altair needed. Wrapping his lips around the swollen head, using his hands to pull Malik in. Feeling Malik's hard cock slide in his mouth to the back of his throat before he swallowed. Taking him in completely.

_"Whore,"_ Malik would breath out, more moan than word. Bucking slightly before using his grip on Altair's hair to pull him off. And then thrusting in quickly. Ignoring the sharp noise Altair would make at the suddenness. Malik's voice would be low and gravely as he panted, _"Take it all."_

Altair breathed deeply through his nose, not trusting himself to remain silent if he opened his mouth. He pressed down on himself harder, hips rolling up into his hand. Imagined the feeling of his mouth stretched wide open around Malik, his hair gripped painfully tight in Malik's fist as he pounded mercilessly into Altair. Not caring if his length would choke him. Only using Altair for his own pleasure.

Altair's head swam. Pleasure, lack of air combining as he fought to remain silent. He brought his left hand up to press against his mouth. Muffling the small sounds that might have escaped. Moans that would make Malik jerk and groan in pleasure. His head rolling back, eyes slitting closed, and _moaning_ Altair's name as he came hard. 

Altair's breath hitched as he came, hand pressing down painfully hard on his covered erection. Feeling the cloth dampening as his teeth sank into the flesh of his hand hard enough to draw blood. The coppery taste almost close enough to what he imagined Malik would taste like.

He sagged on the cushions, breathing quickly but quietly. A breeze trickled through the partially open entrance to the Bureau cooling his sweat slicked face. Altair let out a silent sigh as he relaxed completely. Sleep stealing over him too quickly to worry about the state of his pants, or the silence in the next room.


	6. I Get Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I recommend listening to "I Get Off" by Halestorm while reading. It sets the mood just nicely for this.

The moon is bright and full, but casts more shadows than illumination in the secluded area. A favored swimming spot for novices during the day, and Malik's own stage by night. One he attends to as much as his aching body will allow after a full day of lessons. A few hours spent in complete privacy that he cannot find elsewhere, and that he takes full advantage of.

Surrounded as he usually is by the other novices or his own brother, Malik would not dare to do what he does now. Lay back on the ground, feet inches shy of the water, clothing discarded, and fingers lightly touching his own flesh. Dancing in patterns that wake his skin and make pleasure sing through his body. A private act he would only dare to do in the darkness of the night and the seclusion of the water hole. 

Malik almost smiles at the hypocrisy of his thoughts even as they give way to the urgency of his rising manhood. It is not the seclusion or the privacy he needs. It is not what he seeks by coming here for this. His ears strain for any hint of noise as he loosely grips his hardened flesh and pulls. Spreading his legs wider to display himself.

The noise is badly muffled. A moan or a gasp, Malik cannot tell over the obscene sounds of his own quickening breath and the slide of his hand against his skin. That it happened is all he needs to know. It lets him know that his watcher is there once again. Crouched in an uncomfortable area Malik had once found in a bunch of thorny bushes near the water's edge. A spot that his watcher would have to have entered long before Malik came or else he would have been seen. Too small for any of the adults to even think of hiding in, but perfect for any of the novices to fit in. To hide themselves in before Malik came, at the same time every night, to lose himself in self-pleasure.

Malik moans. Eyes opening as he begins to put on a show worthy of his stage. Something to satisfy the watcher as well as himself. He moves his hand up, fingers passing over the tip of his erection to gather the fluid there. Smearing it down as he snaps his hips up. Back arching off the ground, muscles straining to keep him up for a few seconds longer. The fluid covers his length, making it shine in the moonlight that dapples his body in shadows and light. 

He can _feel_ the eyes of his watcher on him as he does it again and again. Hot and heavy, traveling down his body in a way that is more sensual than any physical touch. More intimate than any of the stolen kisses or shy smiles he had managed to steal from blushing girls. Far more intense than the eager yet half terrified fumbles he shared with a few novices in deserted corridors. Malik has long since given up questioning why the gaze of a stranger could arouse him like no touch ever could. Has simply accepted it as another strangeness that makes him who he is.

The bushes rustle more than the wind can account for, but no other sound comes out. His watcher fights hard to keep silent even as he begins to touch himself. That the watcher is male and finds his own release are things Malik knows are true. He has found signs of it when examining the bushes by the light of day.

Malik imagines his watcher using his hands. Confined to short, jerky movements by the tight spot he is in. Lips pressing hard together to --unsuccessfully, sometimes-- stop any sound from escaping. Pleasuring himself as he watches Malik writhe and moan under the light of the moon. _Needing_ this as much as Malik has found he needs it.

Malik gasps and reaches across his chest with his other hand. Fingers finding the sensitive nubs of his nipples. Flicking them and tracing patterns around them before twisting each until they are hard. He can feel that gaze rake across him now, from one hand to another. The thought of it sends heat flaring up his spine. Malik's fingers tightening on his flesh, thrusting up faster as he opens his mouth and _moans_.

It can be anyone in those bushes watching him. Rauf with his crooked teeth and charming smile. Naji with his calloused hands wrapped around his length. Altair with his golden eyes fixed so intently on Malik. Any of the other novices can be there watching him, not knowing that Malik already --had always-- _knew_ they are there. Finding their own release in watching him find his own.

It is an addiction. One that he discovered by accident and fed nightly. 

Malik twists with both hands. Crying out at the sharp pain in his nipple, feeding into the sharp jolt of pleasure from his length. It builds at an exhilarating speed. His hands move faster, pulse pounding as he races for his release. Egged on by the gaze he can still feel, the silent spectator that needs him to come. He reaches down to cup his balls, rolling the sensitive flesh with his fingers. Trailing down behind them to awkwardly press at the stretch of skin just behind. The spot that makes him nearly sob at the explosion of sensation that rips through him with enough force to make him forget everything.

Malik comes with a broken cry and one last thrust into his hand. His seed covering his hand in spurts of warmth leaving him sprawled on the ground. Panting and cupping his soft flesh lightly. Mind in a daze and unable to do more than smile slightly at the world and wait for his pulse to stop hammering in his ears. 

Malik sighs and looks at his hand covered in the shiny fluid of his release. Vague curiosity stopping him from washing it off in the water as he usually did. Instead he brings his hand up and licks a stripe through the mess. He gags a bit at the taste and texture, and almost spits it out. The sound, a cross between a groan and a whine, from the bushes stops him. It is louder than anything he has ever heard from his watcher before and his breath hitches as he swallows. Malik pretends not to have heard the sound. Closes his eyes to pleasured slits and cleans his hand of his own release. Tongue flicking out to catch every bit of seed from his hand.

Another sound, definitely a moan, comes from his watcher. The deep sound is unmuffled, marking that the other has found his own release. Malik wonders what he thought of that last bit, what he might have imagined. Malik licking the watcher's release? The thought is surprisingly tempting. A bit of heat at the thought passes through his tired manhood.

Malik grins as he stands up and wades out into the water. Closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of the cool water against his heated skin. Allowing his watcher the time he needs to extract himself from the bushes and escape. Letting the chance to discover his watcher's identity pass along with his thoughts of making it all more personal. It was far more exciting the way it was, and Malik did not intend to change that just yet.


	7. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missfire fill

Altair grabbed blindly, somehow managing to snag the back of Malik's robe. He dodged the fist, and used the man's own momentum to spin him into the corner of the room. Stepping in close he used his own body to make sure Malik didn't try to run again.

"Release me!" Malik snarled, pushing awkwardly at Altair's chest. "Altair!"

"No," Altair said, right hand moving to the top of Malik's loosened robe. He ignored the man's curses and struggles as he pushed down the left side. Revealing the one part of his body he tried so hard to keep hidden.

The stump of Malik's left arm was wrapped loosely with bandages that fell easily to Altair's fingers. The fight seemed to leave Malik though his glare still promised bloody revenge. Possibly enacted the moment Altair next tried to sleep.

He kissed Malik's exposed shoulder in apology, unsure how to explain that there was no part of his lover he did not think was beautiful.

~

*

~


	8. Questionable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still uploading old fic from an old pen-name. I believe this is the very 1st AssCreed bit I ever wrote and it shows.

And one day Altair and Malik stopped fighting. 

Exactly when they stopped, no one could say. Why they stopped, no one asked because asking came with the real possibility of them _starting_ again. If for no other reason than to be contrary. 

The two men, who had been at each other's throats since childhood --and not slowed down for petty things like a loss of a limb or betrayal-- had simply stopped. They raised neither voices nor fists as the days went on. No argument turned heated with tables overturned and blood soaked parchments flying everywhere. Even when they disagreed all that followed were well-thought discussions. Discussions that weighed both sides before leading to a compromise. 

The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into a year. Not a single fight broke out between the two. The Order ran along smoothly, more fluently than ever before. 

Most thought it was a miracle in proportion with the divine power so few of them believed in, and left the matter at that. Content that the two men who now led them were at peace. 

The others were not so content to let matters lie as they were. They were the ones who'd spent the most time with the two men. Trained with them, shared quarters with them, and had frequent close encounters with their fights. Those no-holds barred fights that none of the instructors knew about. The ones that had almost led to one or both of their deaths on several occasions. 

To these men there was no possible way to reconcile the image of Altair and Malik at peace with the blood soaked and screaming image of their memories. This lack of thunder and blood was unnatural.

They kept their thoughts among themselves and settled in to watch. Carefully. Looking for the cause and silently preparing themselves for whatever unnatural thing had caused it. Willing to do whatever it took to take care of it.

None ever saw what took place in their private quarters though, and so they waited in vain. 

~

Altair easily caught himself as he was shoved into his rooms. Irritation battled with anticipation and lost. He turned quickly, not wanting to miss a single moment as Malik stalked towards him. 

"Shut up," Malik said, his eyes fixed on Altair with an intensity that made his heart race. "I have listened to enough talk today. All I want to hear now is you screaming my name."

Altair laughed as he met the man head on. Meeting that intensity with his own, the banality of the day melting away for the night. "Make me."

"I will," Malik promised. And he _did_.


	9. Touch Starved

Altair knows, as his knees almost buckle under him when he lands in the Bureau, that he had been reckless. His body aches from his run from Jerusalem's guards. The bloody cuts and bruises are an effective reminder of why one should never forget to keep their guard up.

He slumps to his knees beside the fountain. Bloody fingers clumsily working his weapons and robes off. Pained hisses escape him as his wounds are stretched and scraped. It is a slow and painful process, but one that must be done.

Altair instinctively tenses when someone else enters the courtyard. Malik's mere presence is harsh and heavy as always, but at the sight of blood he forgoes his usual barbs and insults. Instead he says nothing as he settles next to Altair and waits for him to finish disrobing.

Malik's hand is rough and calloused --from the quill and the throwing knives Altair knows he still practices with-- but the touch that carefully mends his wounds is amazingly gentle. The man himself remains silent as well, attention focused on Altair in a way that makes him ache in an entirely different way. And for the space of a few moments Altair can forget his transgressions, his mission, and Malik's hate.

For that alone, Altair would gladly seek out every guard in the city.

~

*

~


	10. It Varies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One sentence challenge from way the hell back.

**#19 - Candle**

The small flame illuminated and reflected off Altair's strange eyes making it seem like they were glowing.

**#33 - World**

Altair has never wondered about the breadth and scope of the world like Malik does, to him the only things that matter are always within arms reach.

**#06 - Hurricane**

They take the guards at a dead run, and the one man who survived would forever swear it was twelve men who attacked.

**#47 - Highway**

"Fool," Malik yells as the horse thunders away from the startled Crusaders, "you will kill us with your antics!"

**#37 - Lies**

"A nightmare," Altair said, breathing in the scent of Malik as he discretely adjusts himself below the blankets, "it was only a nightmare."

**#07 - Wings**

Altair prefers to track from the rooftops, it gives him a clear escape route and an unobstructed view of Malik stalking their target on the ground.

**#01 - Ring**

Altair smiles as they're surrounded and he feels Malik's shoulder nudge his back, the guards don't stand a chance.

**#18 - Dream**

Malik has long accepted that he finds the male form more arousing than the female, but he cannot look certain people in the eye the days he remembers his more erotic dreams.

**#02 - Hero**

It's aggravating having to listen to Kadar all but sing praises about his skills, but it is worth it just to hear the acerbic remarks Malik cannot hold back even from his own brother.

**#12 - Temptation**

Altair watched Malik practice, his blades flashed as his body flowed through the complicated forms, and wanted nothing more than to feel _that_ move against him, _with_ him.

**#05 - Run**

A master assassin doesn't need useless distractions though and it is best for him to forget Malik.

**#04 - Box**

Altair did not realize how ingrained Malik had become in his life until he actively tried to cut the other out.

**#08 - Cold**

Malik didn't realize Altair was pulling away until he woke up one night alone and shivering.

**#03 - Memory**

The days when Malik could expect some part of his body to have an Altair shaped attachment if the boy was near seemed like nothing more than a dream in front of the man who rarely even looked at him.

**#25 - Mask**

It was frustrating, trying to see the boy he once knew hidden behind the smirk of the man he barely knew.

**#11 - Midnight**

In the latest hours of the night Malik often finds himself unable to sleep despite the draughts forced on him by the doctors, his mind too full of the pain and grief of loss.

**#43 - Search**

For the first time in a long while Altair found himself completely alone and was disgruntled to find out how much more work he had to do.

**#17 - Promise**

Later --as the stinging of his pride lessens enough for him to _see_\-- he makes a promise to not hurt what remains of his family, it is a promise he breaks the moment he enters Jerusalem.

**#09 - Red**

Malik's dreams are filled with red, a color he rarely sees awake until the day Altair enters his city.

**#31 - Sacred**

If his vows to the order were not so important, Altair knows Malik would have denied him access to the Bureau.

**#21 - Silence**

Malik's tongue is sharp and biting but it's not what he says that hurts Altair the most, it is the long stretches of silence when he knows that the other man is trying to forget his presence.

**#22 - Journey**

Too late, Altair realizes what he truly lost at the temple; too soon, he is sent back to Jerusalem.

**#30 - Body**

Altair watches as Malik pours water down his back, it streams down his skin catching on an array of scars both familiar and not.

**#26 - Ice**

Malik's eyes are hard and cold as they stare him down from across the Bureau counter.

**#35 - Fever**

Altair is fevered and out of his mind, Malik pays no heed to the man's desperate words as he grudgingly tends to his needs.

**#14 - Music**

The sound of prayers filtered into the Bureau giving Altair something else to focus on besides the eternal silence stretched between the Dai and himself.

**#13 - View**

No matter how hard he tried Malik couldn't stop himself from noticing the changes in Altair.

**#16 - Cover**

On the brink of sleep Altair feels the weight of a blanket being thrown over him.

**#36 - Laugh**

All the embarrassment and humiliation is almost worth it when Malik's helpless laughter fills the Bureau.

**#42 - Talk**

When Malik fumbled, the fingers of his hand suddenly clumsy with the bandage, neither man said a word and the silence laid heavily across them both.

**#48 - Unknown**

Malik barely heard the apology lost as he was in studying the man he realized he truly did not know.

**#45 - Eclipse**

Altair wants to linger with Malik and talk, but there is no time, too much is at stake.

**#23 - Fire**

Smoke stings Malik's eyes as he fights the wraiths of his own brethren praying Altair ends the madness soon.

**#34 - Formal**

"You almost look presentable," Malik remarks when he sees Altair in the black robes for the first time.

**#28 - Forgotten**

The first months after the worst of the damage done to the Order was dealt with are tense, neither man quite sure how to go back to being friends.

**#32 - Farewells**

Few ever understand their habit of trading insults when parting ways.

**#24 - Strength**

Even lacking one arm Malik is still a match for Altair, and he has no qualms about proving it.

**#27 - Fall**

Malik's breath catches when Altair smiles wearily at him, it's a sight becoming more and more common as the Order slowly heals under their care.

**#15 - Silk**

Altair's pale skin stood out in stark contrast with the dark rug and Malik had to stop working and stare for a moment.

**#38 - Forever**

"No," Maria said, eyes and hands firm, "I will bear our children but my heart belongs to another, just as your own does."

**#46 - Gravity**

The late nights eases the guard he usually has on his tongue, and Malik finds himself asking a question he has been thinking of for a while, "Have you ever loved, Altair?"

**#44 - Hope**

The sudden surge of emotion nearly choked Altair and he had to take a breath then another before answering.

**#40 - Whisper**

"You," Altair turned his head, lips almost close enough to touch Malik's ear, "only you."

**#49 - Lock**

The heartfelt words stun Malik into silence for the rest of the night.

**#41 - Wait**

He wants to push, wants to hear Malik give words to what lays in his eyes, but stops himself; Malik will take his own time and Altair must simply wait.

**#20 - Talent**

Words have always come easily to Malik --written or verbal-- so it is an alien feeling to realize he truly did not have anything he could say to match what Altair had said to him.

**#10 - Drink**

If he were the type of man to drink to excess he would blame his idiotic plan on it.

**#29 - Dance**

Malik felt like a fool but when he rose back up and saw the dark, _hungry_ look in Altair's eyes he knew it was worth it.

**#39 - Overwhelmed**

Groans fall from Altair's lips and he cannot be bothered to stifle them, not when his hands can trace the lines of scars and muscles as he pulls Malik closer. 

**#50 - Breathe**

In the darkness of night Altair breaths in Malik's scent and let's the even sound of his heart lull him to sleep.


End file.
